


ink over flowers

by stardusting



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 02:01:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7739125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardusting/pseuds/stardusting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there's a flower shop opening up across the street and that shouldn't change anything. it really shouldn't, but maybe it does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ink over flowers

**Author's Note:**

> honestly i don't know where this fic came from. i just wanted to write neil with tattoos and flowers that love andrew so this happened. and then magic and witches got involved and honestly i don't know where i'm going with this but hey it's a thing now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it rains, allison gets a new tattoo, there’s finally going to be a flower shop opening up in the area, kevin talks business (sorta), and neil lives a simple and satisfactory life. he swears he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings:** casual reference of child abuse.

* * *

_that means rain is coming._ grab an umbrella and prepare for a change to come your way.

* * *

 

The morning rain comes when Neil is three blocks away from his destination. It's the gentle sort that taps staccato verses against every surface and can lull people with weaker wills to sleep. Umbrellas of varying colors pop open all around him, like flowers unfurling their petals to accept the rain but in reverse. The rainfall washes out the colors and people while it simultaneously makes everything look far more vibrant than it really is. It reminds him of the watercolor landscapes done by a careful hand, everything blurred together in an organized sort of chaos.

He's been getting caught in the early morning and late afternoon showers more often than not lately, perhaps a sign for him to invest in a proper raincoat or an umbrella before a cold leaks its way into his system. But Neil doesn’t mind the rain in any of its forms enough to bother with carting around an umbrella or a heavier jacket.

Rain is the barest bones of purifying magic and leaves behind a fine web of freshness on every surface it touches and has a welcoming sort of energy that lingers in the air. In the city where the buildings are high and the cars choke the streets, the purity only last for a few hours after the fact, but that doesn’t matter all too much. Everyone benefits from it regardless of how long it lasts and that makes it hard to hate something that’s so naturally helpful.

Neil pulls his hood up over his hair and grips his coffee closer to fend off the impending chill, grateful for the warmth the cup provides as the temperature drops like it always does when the sky turns cloudy and the rain starts up. He takes a sip of his coffee (a splash of cream, a sugar, and a dash of _wakefulness_ ) and can taste the enchantment mixed in with the naturally bitter flavor kicking in as soon as it touches his tongue. It’s reminiscent of something sharp like mint but too sweet to actually be such. There was promise that the concoction should wake him up fully in less than ten minutes once half the cup is gone. Neil, half asleep and not quite thinking things through, just had a one track thought process, his mind blaring at him to _stay awake stay awake stay awake_. He didn’t care how it happened just that he needed it to. The addition to his drink makes the overall taste of the coffee a little too unbearably saccharine for his liking and this why he doesn’t ask for extras in the mornings or any time really, can’t stand how his teeth ache and brain buzz afterwards, but it felt necessary evil to indulge in today.

His phone vibrates once, twice, and thrice against his hip before Neil can fish it from the inside of his pocket and it’s a wonder he manages to not accidently elbow another pedestrian in the process. There's no point in bothering to look at who is calling him this early, knowing there are only two people who would think of contacting him at this time, so he immediately answers and cradles the phone against his ear with his free hand.

"You're late." Kevin states in lieu of a proper greeting like decent person, not that Neil cares enough to point that out, long used to his habits and lack of any real manners.

"Woke up late." Is the simplest truth that he gives, but Neil frowns to himself once he realizes how strange that sounds coming from his own mouth, but he can’t do anything about it now.

Neil has been late before, usually because he loses track of time during his early morning runs and has to scramble to get showered and dressed to make it in time for an appointment to keep his schedule going smoothly. It’s rarely ever because he sleeps late and hasn’t had this happen in months actually.

His sleep schedule is primarily dictated by the degree of his nightmares which are always getting worse and no better as the days, months, and years pass. They'll wake him up when he has only three hours of sleep to his name and are often times jarring enough that he can't ease himself back to even the briefest moments of shut eye until much later when the images stop flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinks. He ends up trading his breaks for naps in the lounge room and pilfers snacks from Kevin when he gets hungry during a lull in business, so it works out but just barely.

Kevin used to tell him often that they make things to help with this, medicines and potions and healers and special spells to quiet the mind and make sleeping easier and the nights dreamless. Neil doesn’t trust any of those methods though, doesn’t trust anything or anyone with his own secrets besides himself. One day he’ll find the time to properly manage them so Kevin will stop badgering him about it once every week or so.

"Are you okay?" Kevin's voice is a muffled concern over the phone as it switches to French, tone familiar and a little comforting.

Neil feels guilt twist in his gut and he takes a sip of coffee to help rid himself of the feeling before he responds in kind, the words of a different language easily rolling from his tongue like smoothed over pebbles. “I’m fine." He insists like always and maneuvers around a steadily growing puddle of water because the last thing he wants to do is come into work with wet socks and cold feet.

Kevin is quiet for two heartbeats before he sighs and Neil can imagine the look on his face, something tired and a little annoyed from dealing with Neil’s odd brand of stubbornness. "Well then, Allison is waiting for you to get here." It’s such a blatant subject change that Neil wonders if he’ll just end up getting a lecture today when time permits, probably so. Kevin cares about Neil’s own wellbeing as much as his own if not more on some days and the same can be said for Neil too, caring about Kevin more than he does himself, but that’s just how they work.  

Neil rolls his eyes mostly to himself and because he just can’t not roll his eyes when dealing with Kevin on some days. "She's always early. I'm a block away though, I won't even be that late."

"Late is still late, Neil."

"Whatever.” He sighs and takes a stubborn gulp of coffee, not caring how it scalds his tongue and burns the roof of his mouth on the way down. “Allison doesn't even really mind, she just likes being dramatic."

There's a scoff on the other end that Neil decides to ignore. "Fine then, just hurry up." But it sounds like _see you soon._

"Maybe." He says lightly like he’s actually contemplating going slower just for the hell of it, but it's really a _promise_ to be there as quickly as he can after hanging up.

* * *

 

“So what’s the inspiration for this one?”

Neil questions over the soft hum of the tattoo gun and the machine vibrates in his hand comforting like an old friend. He’s in the process of coloring petals of a flower along Allison’s side a sharp and dangerous red that stands out starkly against her skin and reminds him a little too much of blood. There are three more flowers trailing from hip to chest that will end up getting his attention today, along with a set of leaves that need to be colored in, but those will be done at a later date.

Completing the tattoo as a whole will take this and another session, something he had to convince Allison to do because she was so geared up about getting everything done at once. She could deal with it though, can bear the pain of a needle piercing skin and hovering over delicate bones and nerves better than the biggest men Neil has ever tattooed, but he wouldn’t let her for both their sakes.

Colored tattoos are the sort of art Neil likes to take his time with whenever he can, putting the utmost care in every space than needs to be filled. He does this with all his tasks, but he’s always enjoyed the process of inking color onto someone’s skin the most. There’s something magical and grounding about making his artwork come to life on living person and having them wear it for years and years. It reminds him of his canvases and paints except more permanent and always in motion, no chance of accumulating dust.

“Because I like flowers.” Allison replies her voice even if not faintly tired. At seven in the morning on a Monday of all days, it feels a touch too early for both of them to be having this appointment, but they deal with it. “They’re anemones you know. They have lots of meanings.”

Neil does know. He knows the Greek myth surrounding them, how they sprung from Aphrodite’s tears as she mourned the death of Adonis, because it was one of his mother’s favorite to tell to him when they were something close to safe. He knows every meaning they can hold from the arrival to spring, to the death of a loved one, to bad luck and ill omens, to protection against those very same things. They’re enigmatic flowers, hard to pin down the meaning when out of context, a bit like Allison in that respect.  Not unknowable but will take and effort to figure out.

“What meaning are you going for then?” He asks during a pause to wipe away ink and blood. He’s gotten better at keeping his attention on tasks in front of him and resisting the urge to follow a trail of memories when they come flooding back by keeping his mind on people in present instead of the ghosts that linger in the past.

Allison takes a pause to answer and does not speak up until the tattoo gun begins again, only wincing slightly when the needle resumes its task of etching a permanent picture on her skin. “Protection maybe. Are you going to enchant it to do just that?”

“No.” Neil replies simply, not bothering to explain it further than that. Anyone else would have probably prodded and asked why and maybe even grown upset at the blunt answer, but Allison isn’t just another simple human patron looking for a quick enchantment drawn into their skin.

“Will it move then, like the others.” As if on cue, the moth that Neil remembers as the first tattoo he ever gave her flutters against the place at the base of her neck, wings rapidly beating as the prisms around it twirl and twirl and twirl.

Neil looks away, always feeling awkward when people’s tattoos move in his line of sight. It’s like watching something a bit too intimate despite the fact that he’s the one that put them there. Once he finishes them up, they are no longer his to openly admire and stare it without permission; instead they belong to the person who wears them with pride.

“I’m pretty sure that depends on you mostly, but I don’t know how it will move.” He comments. Flowers are always the unpredictable sort. All tattoos that he gives tend to be when coupled with the magically inclined, not just witches. Neil doesn’t care enough to find a rhyme or reason as to why certain images move the way they do when compared to others or why he’s the only tattoo artist in the city that is known for gifting tattoos that move like they’re alive. His steadily growing recognition is a bit uncomfortable to think about, his mother would beat him senseless for making a name for himself in a place like this. “Maybe they’ll close up when it rains, like real anemones do.”

“Wouldn’t that be something?” Allison hums and they fall into a silence save for the soft buzz of the tattoo gun that hangs in the air.

If Allison was anyone else, Neil would keep a conversation going, just to distract her from the pain. He isn’t much for talking, but he knows the right questions to ask that’ll keep people going for hours at a time if they wanted. On days when he’s rarely interested, which is often, he just nods his head and only pays enough attention to keep the conversation from dying. It’s the bare minimum but patrons seem to find him to be a good listener. He’s really just good at pretending to listen.

Allison’s different though and has been a customer at _Neverland_ three years since it first opened. Neil has done all eight of her tattoos over the years and they’re something sort of like friends even though neither of them would admit that. But Neil doesn’t mind when she comes in on days when she doesn’t have to teach little girls self-defense classes or the fact that she likes to put her feet up on the waiting room couch. He lets her drag him on shopping trips and out to lunch when their schedules permit and it’s a nice sort of setup.

The silences between them stopped being awkward when Neil etched Allison’s third tattoo along her right hip and down her thigh, an extensive geometric pattern that took hours but both of them were proud of the end result. She came in the next day with an extra coffee to give away and spoke to Neil about ideas for the next tattoo and how soon she could get it done. In return he gave her a special design made by himself that usually cost more because they take more time, but didn’t bother charging full price for it. Now she wears the design along her collarbones and she and Neil are more than just customer and tattoo artist.

“You know there’s a flower shop opening up across the street, right next to Foxhole.” Allison’s voice comes out casual as Neil dips the needle tip in water to wash away the red ink.

“Really?” He chooses a brown that dark enough to be an almost black and sets to work on filling in the center of the flowers. “Was I supposed to know this?”

“There was a moving van right outside a couple days ago.” He can tell by her tone that she wants to roll her eyes and it wouldn’t surprise him if she already did even though he can’t see it. “Just how oblivious are you?”

“Not very,” He frowns and pretends he isn’t all that offended by her words. “but I was just busy these past few days. Schools out you know.”

That means an influx of teenagers that are ready to go to college and are old enough to get a tattoo without parental consent. He’s lost track of how many infinity symbols and feathers and birds he’s tattooed and how many fonts he’s had to etch _carpe diem_ in this past week. How many times he had to firmly tell a kid _no,_ he was not going to put a tattoo on their neck or face or hands, because being eighteen means being reckless and looking back and maybe regretting a thing or two. Tattoos are the permanent sort of regret and he wasn’t going to be a part of that. They can come back when they’re older and not so impulsive or find someone else willing to do it.

Dealing with all of it gives him a headache and makes him feel cross-eyed and Kevin says it’s a wonder his temper has held up until now. Allison has been a welcome break in the pattern and honestly that’s part of the reason why he urged her to split the new tattoo into two different sessions, to break up the monotony that his life is now experiencing.

“How do you know it’s a flower shop anyway?” He asks, genuinely curious. Allison doesn’t even work on this part of town.

“I talked to one of the owners the other day. Apparently there are two, but I only saw just the one. She seems okay. I guess.”

Neil hums instead of answering, not all too interested about the new shop opening up and the people it might bring. It seems like an odd setup though, having a coffeehouse next to a flower shop and right across the street from the tattoo parlor, but it works out some way and because magical individuals don’t really care about organized placements as long as they can get what they need in a timely manner.

The flower shop might help bring in more business in the area if anything; there hasn’t been one in this area for a while, at least not since Neil opened up shop. He’s heard enough witches complain about having to go all the way across town to get their needed herbs and flowers and figures that the new place will get a good influx of customers if people are satisfied and the prices aren’t too high.

“I’ll keep a lookout for them then.” Neil offers, even though they both know he won’t actually make an effort to talk to anyone new. Out of all of them, it’s definitely going to be Allison updating both him and Kevin on any information on the new neighbors that she can get and starting any bets  about them over the smallest things.

With the tattoo finally finished for now, Neil removes his foot from the pedal and waits for the machine to fall silent before setting it off to the side. He wipes off the last remnants of ink and blood, more methodical about it this time, and scoops a generous amount of Vaseline on his fingers. He smooths it over the tattoo in a way that’s muscle memory by now and returns to the jar two more times before he feels the tattoo is covered enough. The sheen of the ointment makes the colors bright and eye catching.

“You can look at it if you want.” Neil inclines his head to the mirror hanging in the room and helps Allison to sit up and stand.

She walks unabashed across the threshold with her shirt in hand, to glance at the not quite completed work. Neil pauses from his disposal and cleaning ritual to gauge her reaction properly and see his work from a different angle.

“Not too bad.” Allison states as she poses and eyes the tattoo and how looks with the others that have already made a home along her skin. It’s one of the few splashes of color against the black and grey lines her tattoos are normally comprised of, and that makes it all the more stunning. “Might be one of my favorites actually.”

“The color looks good on you.” Neil comments and dumps the disposable needles in the bin for sharp objects and places paper towels and disposable ink tubes in the trash. His gloves come off with a sharp _snap_ and he flexes his fingers once they’re free. “Have to look into getting more red ink after this though.”

“Don’t complain.” She says not unkindly, her reflection has the small workings of a smile curling the corner of her lips upward. “I’m paying a pretty penny for this so of course you of all people wouldn’t dare half-ass it.”

If he didn’t know Allison any better, he probably wouldn’t have taken that as a compliment, but he knows her well enough by now. It’s her way of saying that Neil is the only one she trusts at this point to do tattoos for her. Something he’s a lot more grateful for than he’d readily admit or even realizes. There’s something nice about have customers that return instead of going off to someone that might have a cheaper price. Neil takes great pride and care in his work, and it shows.

“If you’re done,” Neil speaks to her back and slips on a new pair of gloves. “come sit down so I can bandage you up and send you on your way.”

Allison rolls her eyes but makes her way back over, gently hip checking against his shoulder when she passes before plopping down on the other chair.

“I’ll take a picture,” he starts and smooths a generous amount of ointment back on the tattoo. “once it’s finished.”  A pause to unroll the non-adhesive plastic wrap. “If you’re free next week,” a bit of bandage tape placed on the top. “we can schedule it then.” And more placed at the bottom to keep the plastic in place and the tattoo protected.

“Why not.” She shrugs her shoulders and slips the shirt back over her head, lifting her hair out the trappings of the collar. “Do I have to properly schedule an appointment?”

“I’m not taking any commissions next Thursday,” He states, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he thinks things over. “so let me know what time is good for you and I’ll be there.”

“Absolutely none?” She raises a perfectly formed eyebrow and leans a tad closer. “What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing too important. I just need a day off to myself, but finishing you up won’t take more than an hour.” It’s only a half lie, enough of the truth to seem believable so Allison doesn’t find the need to question anything about it. “I don’t need to tell you about proper upkeep do I?”

“I’ve heard enough of it I can probably repeat you word for word.” She says with a small grimace and slips off the chair, collecting her bag and umbrella. “Good luck with the rest of your day.” There’s a wink at the heel of words as she walks out the door. It sways in her wake and leaks in flashes of music before it settles closed.

Neil removes the second pair of gloves and sighs. He has about five more scheduled appointments today, little things that shouldn’t take too long, but it’s bound to get busier. People like to come in to consult about tattoos, something that he likes to leave Kevin to do, but some insist on seeing the actual person that does the tattooing, not that he can blame them.

A quick glance at the clock hanging on the wall lets Neil know that he has an hour until his next scheduled appointment, a good amount of time to take a decent break. There’s still the buzz of coffee in his system so there’ll be no napping just yet.

He walks into the common area and finds it empty, not really surprising since it’s still early and a weekday. Neil makes a quick beeline for the desk where Kevin always occupies and sits in the seat next to him, arms immediately placed on the countertop and head cushioned on them.

“You look tired.” Kevin’s tone holds a slight edge of accusation but he keeps his eyes trained on his laptop.

Neil hums but doesn’t say anything, it’s neither a yes or no. He’s tired enough to feel it in his bones but he’s awake enough that he knows a nap won’t come to him. It makes him regret letting that witch at the coffee shop put that enchantment in his coffee this morning. It makes him regret getting coffee that wasn’t from the Foxhole in general; Matt would have probably talked him out of it because he’s Neil’s voice of reason on days when he’s still half asleep and not thinking straight. Other witches’ magic never does well in Neil’s system, not when he’s spent a majority of his life interacting with magic that wasn’t his own or his mother’s as little as possible.

“We should look into getting someone to do piercings and another person to help you do tattoos.” Kevin continues like it’s nothing, far too used to Neil’s silences at this point to be offended when he doesn’t get the reaction he’s hoping for, some occasions at least.

Rubbing his cheek against his sleeves and ignoring how the fabric catches on the scars on his face, Neil sighs but doesn’t bother raising his head. “Are people asking about piercings?” He ignores the last part of the statement; Kevin knows he doesn’t like the thought of having someone else do tattoos when he can handle them all himself, hiring two extra people for this place seems unnecessary.

“We’ve gotten a person at least once a week asking about them. It’s been going on for the past few months.”

Well, it doesn’t surprise him, not really. Most tattoo parlors offer piercing services as well, but Neil didn’t want to deal with that on top of all the tattooing. He got into the field because he loved art but wanted something that moved away from him instead of with him. He had to burn canvases of artwork in the past, something that pained him each time it happened because that was art he spent hours and hours on. Tattooing allows him to keep his artwork alive and most people wouldn’t remember him after a while, at least not in full detail. Lots of people have tattoos so tracking down his specifically wouldn’t have been easy.

That was how everything was _supposed_ to go anyway, but _Neverland_ became more than just a simple stop and a temporary place to make money and the tattoos he created moved, like creatures trapped under skin. Neil is always ready to run now, waiting for the day he sees the familiar signs of someone looking for him. He swears he’ll be able to cut ties and go back to altering his appearance and changing his name in every new city he comes across if need be.

“Do you have anyone in mind?” he turns his head to look at Kevin, who still has his eyes glued on the laptop screen.

It takes a few seconds for him to answer, his face pensive and eyebrows furrowed slightly. Thinking of people he knows or trying to make sense of whatever he’s doing at the moment. “No.” he finally answers and it sounds like a minor realization and makes Neil roll his eyes. “As in I don’t know anyone on hand that has a piercing license, but they aren’t really that hard to get, we just need someone who’s willing to do it.”

“Why don’t you do it then?” Neil questions though he already knows the answer.

It makes it worth it though, seeing Kevin’s face take on a look of disgust at the idea. “You know I have a thing about needles.”

Neil does know about the _thing_ , it’s why Kevin doesn’t like to be in the same room when Neil’s tattooing or why he’s declined every offer for a free tattoo. He doesn’t know the origin of Kevin’s _thing_ , if it’s just a general wariness of needles that some people have or if it’s something else entirely. Like how Neil has a _thing_ with knives and always gets a bit nervous when even a kitchen one is pointed in his direction.

“Fair enough.” Neil sighs and opens the desk drawer where Kevin likes to keep snacks. He pulls out a bag of dried fruit mix with a small triumphant noise. “Ask around I guess, but don’t hire just anyone.” He sticks a piece of mango in his mouth and tackles the task of talking around it while he chews, manners be damned. “Make sure they know how to work with stones and crystals preferably. I think that’s becoming popular again, so people might ask for it. I don’t care if whoever you hire ends up including that feature in their services or not, but if they want to, it’s better they know how to do it because I’m not teaching them.”

 “Of course I won’t just hire some random person off the street.” Kevin scoffs and reaches in the bag of fruit and takes out a handful. “And then there will have to be the interviewing process and getting them their license.”

“Did you know,” Neil interrupts because Kevin will go on for ages if he doesn’t get stopped. “that there’s a flower shop opening up right across the street? Allison told me.”

Kevin hums his acknowledgment, chewing the fruit in his mouth before commenting. “That’s good. I’m tired of going all the way across town to get what I need.”

It’s simple statements like these that make Neil forget that Kevin is human, a human with a strong magical signature but a human nonetheless. A human that was raised by one of most powerful families in the world and was treated more like a pet than boy, but everyone ignorant to what really happened to him adored his story and adores it still. He tries to steer clear of magic for the most part, relationship with it wary at best, but Neil knows when you grow up with something so ingrained in your system it’s hard to break free from it no matter how old you get.

Neil frowns when he bites into a too sweet pineapple and resists the urge to spit it into the trash by his feet. “Do you think it’ll change anything around here?”

This time Kevin actually graces him with eye contact, raises an eyebrow, and then shakes his head. “Probably not, besides more customers maybe. Allison will make bets about the place and the people that own it, but after a month or two things will quiet down again.”

That sounds about right. Neil shoves another piece of mango in his mouth and believes that things won’t change in any real way. His life has hit a sort of lull that keeps him satisfied enough to not feel the need to run every day now, and that’s all he can really ask for at this point.

He’s satisfied, he ensures himself of that fact enough times that it feels almost like the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if i messed up on anything and feel free to talk to me on tumblr about this au or tfc in general. you can find me [@tearful](http://tearful.tumblr.com/)


End file.
